


something like forgiveness

by fanalese



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amanda (Detroit: Become Human) Being an Asshole, Awkward Conversations, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deals With Human Emotions, Connor Deserves Happiness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Not really awkward, connor doesnt do the dishes right just because hes petty, connor is angry and hank helps him through it, they just both would rather not be having it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24197095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanalese/pseuds/fanalese
Summary: Hank discovers a whole new fury in Connor. He didn't expect it to be directed to him. Dealing with months worth of repression, they both work on a previously ignored part of their friendship after it blows up in their faces.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 9
Kudos: 116





	something like forgiveness

Breakfast was sloppy, and Connor was quiet.

It was a mundane combination that had Hank running through a mental checklist, idly swirling his lukewarm coffee with a spoon still stained from last night’s dinner. True, androids seemed to grow more human by the day- last he’d seen Markus, he was sporting a medical-grade bandage after slicing his hand on a broken glass cup. That he’d _dropped_. For anyone else, cold coffee and undercooked toast didn’t warrant anything more than an annoyed glance. But this was Connor. 

Connor didn’t do minor fuck ups like this. Not without reason, and being a state-of-the-art android, there were _very_ few reasons. 

Past events still lurking the corners of his brain had Hank zoned in on the possibility of injury. It wasn’t so much that Connor hid his poor health- no, he was just shit at recognizing the signs. Not even a few months ago, Hank nearly lost his voice lecturing Connor on self preservation after he’d ‘involuntarily fallen into stasis’ after overdoing it on a case. The most they’d done this week were wellness checks, though; and he’d actually seen Connor last night, twirling a finger through Sumo’s fur moments before nodding off to sleep. 

Low thirium? 

Hank peeked up from his plate, watching Connor spray some unidentifiable lemon-scented wash onto the living room table. He seemed to be moving around just fine. No signs of lethargy, skin still artificially flushed, and eyes- while seemingly unfocused- not glazed, like Hank had seen in thirium deficient androids. He’d watched Connor ‘bleed out’ before, and though something was obviously wrong now, there was a stark difference between the Connor that seemed to be on death’s doorstep, and the Connor that was… in whatever unidentifiable state he was in now. Even as he cleaned- three smooth, sweeping circles with a rag in a methodological motion so terribly Connor-like, there was an underlying tone that had everything feeling so... not right.

Hank took a bite of his toast, foot tapping almost anxiously as Connor continued to clean. A stubborn stain on the table’s surface had Connor pushing his arm’s weight into the movement. When it didn’t give, he scrubbed harder. And harder. Though his expression remained unchanging, the tightness in his jaw screamed irritability. A few more tries had Hank worried the fabric would rip on the wood, but before he could make any comment on it, Connor took in a swift breath before stiffly moving and kneeling down to the table’s opposite side. The scratches he’d left behind stood out more on the wood than the original stain. Something beyond aesthetics made them feel way uglier. 

Hank gave an all too awkward cough, reaching for his coffee mug. 

“Thanks for the dinner last night. Don’t remember if I told you it already.” Hank tapped the drink’s spoon along the cup’s rim, unsure what to do with it. The nail of his thumb picked at the food spot, and he dully noted it as potato skin. It fell back into his drink without making so much as a ripple. “Never been a soup kind of guy but - well, I can only expect the best from an android like yourself.” Hank ended on a gruff chuckle, taking a moment to subtly eye at Connor’s reaction.

“It’s no trouble of mine to serve you, Lieutenant.”

No eye contact. No pause in the table he was wiping. 

Fuck. Connor wasn’t malfunctioning or hurt- he was pissed. Hank scrambled for his new mental checklist, one he vaguely noted as ‘ _Shit I’ve Done That Explains Why My Android Is About To Murder Me’_. Expressing emotions seemed to prove difficult for the both of them, but Connor had never been one to avoid confrontation- so, why the change now? 

“You’re not serving me, Connor. Don’t do this shit if you don’t want to.” 

“It makes no difference to me, Lieutenant.” Despite Hank’s burning gaze, Connor stayed fixed to the table, making rounds to face the stain once more. He thumbed at the deep scratches, lips flickering into a frown as he assessed the damage. 

“Well, it makes a difference to _me_.” Hank could feel his own temper bubbling, but failed to stifle it. “And what the fuck is up with this ‘Lieutenant’ bullshit? I thought we were over that, Connor.”

“My apologies, Mr. Anderson.” Another spray from the bottle, and another swipe with the rag. The apathy in each movement filled Hank with an irrational amount of annoyance. He shoved himself away from the table with more force than necessary, marching up to the living room table without second thought. Connor’s gaze didn’t falter. 

“You’re really starting to piss me off, you know that? What the fuck is going on with you?” They both knew it was fruitless, but Connor continued to wipe at the stain regardless, unresponsive to Hank. “Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Connor froze in place, eyes snapping up to meet Hank’s own with an intensity that seemed to smash his own temper into nothing more than a dull throb. His burning red LED wasn’t necessary to identify the dozens of emotions written on Connor’s face- most notably, _extreme fucking anger_. But still, within the boiling fury, there was confusion- like he didn’t want to be angry. It wasn’t the type of stifled emotion Hank had seen in pre-deviant androids, it was a human type repression and explosion he was too familiar with himself. The hand holding the rag was clenched so hard, Hank swore he could hear plastic cracking underneath it. 

With a heavy sigh, Hank reached over the table to let his own hand cover Connor’s. He closed his eyes for a second, clenching his jaw in a vague motion to compose himself. After a beat, he met back with Connor’s unwavering gaze. 

“Let go, Connor. You’re hurting your hand.” Stern, but with a tone considerably scaled down than his previous outburst. Hank was almost proud of himself. 

Connor let out a deep breath, nostrils flaring and face still hard with a deadly ferocity. His eye contact never let up, but he let the material fall from his grasp. There was some trace damage to his artificial skin, Hank noted. He drew his hand back. It was nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a cycle of stasis- they seemed to have bigger problems to attend. 

A moment of silence seemed to prompt an actual answer from Connor, one that wasn’t so passively aggressively shrouded in indifference. Connor, so analytical and graceful with his descriptions, opened and closed his mouth as he grasped for his own voice. And finally, with an even steelier stare-

“Why did you treat me so badly, before?” 

It was Hank’s turn to gape. Guilt rushed towards him like a truck skidding on ice. He knew their past wasn’t forgotten, that they would address it some day, but watching it all unfold in a flurry of deviant repression had him wanting to wash all his mistakes away with a bottle of gin. 

“Connor-”

“No, I-” Connor stood from his crouched position, matching Hank’s height. “I want to finish. You pushed all of your anger onto me. You took the idea that I was nothing more than plastic and ran with it. Why did you do it?”

The anti-android stickers. The way he had threatened Connor when they’d first partnered up, doing everything he could to make his job a nightmare. Letting out a huff of air, Hank scrubbed his face with his palms before gracelessly sitting back onto the couch, allowing Connor to tower over him even across the table. 

“You’re right. I had a lot of anger and it- it wasn’t right to put that on you.”

“I questioned my own deviancy and you drove me deeper into my own commands.” His fists clenched into hard plastic, and this time, Hank didn’t move to fix it. Instead, he let his own voice interrupt with defensiveness. 

“It’s not all _my_ fucking fault you didn’t show any fucking empathy. Don’t you fucking blame this on me, Connor.” 

“ _You_ were my only point of reference. My world was dead deviants and a gun being shoved to my fucking head by someone I wanted to protect,” Connor snarled, harsh enough to snap Hank’s mouth shut into a tight line. “You think you were letting me grow, but you were just like everyone else. You wanting to ‘teach’ me deviance is no fucking different than any other person commanding an android around. Did you want me to be free, or did you just want me to act out what you wanted to see?”

From his corner, Sumo let out a weary yawn. Connor clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, failing to fully compose himself. When he spoke, it was softer than its previous rising volume, though just as thick with emotion. 

“You were all I had. You and Amanda. You toyed around with my deviancy just as much as she did.” Androids didn’t have much need for air, not for anything other than an internal fan, but Connor’s chest seemed to heave with it. “You were all I had, Hank. You were the one I cared for. You wanted to believe in your own hurt, so you decided to hurt me too.”

“Fuck. Connor, I- fuck,” Hank was almost lightheaded with the outburst. “I wanted what I thought was best for you.” Connor blinks his eyes open. 

“Bullshit.” 

Hank nods his head in agreement, head bowing down. “I didn’t, at first. I was curious. Bitter and curious. It blew my fucking mind that something could exist and have such a shitty life without caring. I didn’t know how to get you to care. I didn’t think it mattered.” 

With an artificial swallow, Connor loosens his fists. His eyes wander to the wall behind Hank, a faraway look that made his insides turn with discomfort. “I have dreams about it. I tell myself the Hank that shoves me against a wall, that points his gun at me isn’t real. But he is. He was.” 

“God,” There’s no hiding the crack in his voice, but he compresses his tears back into his chest. He has no right to cry, not when his best friend- his family has been holding onto that feeling for so long. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m angry at you for hurting me.”

“I know. It was my job to protect you, deviant or not. I failed you both ways. I won’t fail you anymore. And I promise, I swear on everything important to me that I won’t hurt you again,” Hank lifts his head. “I promise you, Connor.” 

Connor seemed to deflate at that, exhaustion finally seeping through. Silence takes over for a few more seconds than necessary, and eventually, Hank scoots over- patting the empty space next to him with an invitation that gets wordlessly accepted. Air still thick with tension, they both settled their attention on the scratched wood. 

“I don’t want to be angry with you.” Connor notes, as if he had just made the revelation. 

“I know, kiddo. But it was a long time coming.” 

“Why am I still angry, if I don’t want to be?”

Hank turned to face him, guilt burning deeper at the way Connor’s brows furrowed and face twisted into a type of disgust at his own display of presumed irrationality. 

“I treated you like shit- you have every reason to be mad at me. Being your friend doesn’t make what I did to you any less horrible.” Hank sighed, clasping a hand on Connor’s shoulder and turning his head back down. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m sorry, Connor. You don’t have to forgive me yet. But know that I’ll do anything I can for you until things feel right.” 

There’s a sudden warmth to his chest, one that Hank feels completely undeserving of. He returns the hug anyways, squeezing Connor with incredible force, as if holding him close enough would let him understand the true regret and guilt Hank feels. In a way, it does. 

  
“I messed up your table.”  
  
“We can paint over it. It’ll be good as new.”  
  
“Yeah?” The smile didn’t quite reach Connor's eyes, but it was a good enough step for now.  
  
“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like the way hank treats connor at first isn't talk about enough, even if he wasn't a deviant at the time. i think we all have great friends that have done not great things to us, and i think an angry response to it isn't a bad thing. we all have anger sometimes, controllable or not. forgiveness comes with knowing the person is going to do better and accepting the fact that you were hurt in the first place. i've been coming to terms with that myself, and it's very hard sometimes. but i know it'll be worth it. i hope you all enjoyed my 5 am projection 
> 
> i would be very very very grateful if you guys left comments .! i would love to learn how to improve or see some cool ideas i can sneak in later . so far this is probably just going to be one chapter, but if there are any ideas on a continuation i wouldn't mind writing it. thank you for reading !!


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